“AN EVIL ANGEL”

Waikato Times, Volume 122, Issue 20504, 21 May 1938, Page 27 (Supplement)

“AN EVIL ANGEL”

CHAPTER XXV.— (Continued.; “Look, there are Nina and Jacob walking on the terrace,” said Marie, as she glanced from the window. “Don't you think, Philip, that perhaps it is Nina who will be the Countess of Yesey?” “I am more puzzled about those two people than I can express. Jacob, I feel certain, is in love with Nina, and I think she cares for him but there is some potent reason why she will not let herself go.” Marie laughed. “Mere nonsense I should think. She will give in sooner or later.” “I am not so sure. Have you ever watched Nina when Hamilton Browne is present—she looks terrified-” “What rubbish, Philip!—why, she scarcely knows Mr Browne, and I don't think she likes what she does know.” “Exactly. She does not know him. perhaps, but he may know something about her.” “Why don't you ask him? He is a great friend of yours.” “Ask Browne! So likely, he would not tell me anything unless he chose —but that there is a past in connection with his life, I found out long since—men don’t exile themselves to Labrador for nothing. Marie.” "And the past you think is in connection with Nina? Oh, Philip, you frighten me."

“My poor little birdie, I ought not to have talked on this subject to you, while you are so weak and fragile. See, Nina Is coming to tell me ‘time is up,’ that you must rest. Keep very quiet for an hour, my own love. We are all coming to have tea here with you.” Another fond kiss, he was gone, and Marie lay back among her pillows, trying to unravel the tangle of thoughts his words had left behind. Restful contemplation was not, however, to be Marie’s lot. Philip Morley had scarcely time to reach the bottom of the staircase, when the door of the little sitting-room, that had been allotted to the invalid, was opened softly, and Comtesse Feodore herself glided in.

“Ah, Feo!” was Marie’s glad cry, as she held out her arms to be fondled and fussed over by the woman, to whom she had become so devoted, as almost to have ousted Nina from her place as first favourite.

Nor apparently was the girl’s welcome wasted. -Comtesse Feodore took her in her arms with purring endearments, so glad was she, she said, to see health returning, and a little shade of pink once more in her erst pale cheeks. “So good of you and Nina to nurse me so well,” was the murmured return, and “then happiness oame in to perfect your good work.’* The Comtesse had released the girl from her affectionate embrace, and was seating herself in a low chair by the side of Marie’s fauteuil. A strange movement affeoted her body as she did so. It was almost a contortion, but it passed quickly and unobserved. “Then it is arranged?” she asked, without any seeming tremble in her voice—“you are now his fiancee?” “His fiancee, yes—my Philip. Oh, Feo, how could I expect, how do I deserve such happiness?” “You were a naughty child from what I am told, but women don’t always get their deserts in this world.” “You mean I ought to be punished, not petted?” “Vrail Yet I, like the rest, pet and chide not.” “I wonder if you have got your deserts, Feo cherie?” was Marie’s somewhat awkward question after a short pause. The Comtesse started, and the olive tinted skin whitened. “Into the temps passe of a woman like me, it is as well not to dive,” she said with an amount of almost savage acrimony that made Marie stare in surprise, while she recollected that Mrs Cooper, having no belief in Comtesse Feodore, was longing to get back to her own house in Belgrave Street. Comtesse Feodore, however, speedily resumed her usually urbane, somewhat sleepy manner, and Marie, engrossed by her own happiness, as quickly forgot the passing sign of storm. “Ces messieurs,” said the Comtesse. “Mi lor Vesev and le Captaine Morley are coming up here to tea. We must celebrate the great event of the flancailles of our little invalid —before they arrive I would make my little offering of love. In the country where I passed so much of my Jeunesse, we give our offering at the fTancailes—we do not wait for the wedding. You will accept, little one?” “Oh, Feo, you are too good—always too good to me.” “It is not of intrinsic value, my tiny offering—only in luck is it of proved power—an eastern amulet, that will not fail to work for luck.” “Oh, Feo, I said you were good. Why do you give it me, if it is so lucky? Why not keep it yourself?” Comtesse Feodore smiled. “See how I love you, petite Marie.” From her pocket she took a small case, which she opened carefully. “Oh, Feo, what a lovely ring, how weird, how quaint!” “It is of the East, not of this cold civilised West," said the Comtesse, i “and that it will grace with charm | your delicffte little hand, I quite think j —that is if you will condescend to ■ wear it sometimes, and think of Feo-” Marie held out her hand.

“Bon, ma petite, but before I place this on your finger, I must tell you of its little trick. When you are unhappy, or in suspense, or trouble, you touch this little spring, it opens—see—you just take one good sniff, and all your pain and anguish is gone—only you must never, never tell of this hidden charm to any human being, not even the trusted Philip, or you will lose the power. For me now 1 give you the secret, it is lost.” “Why, Feo, you are as bad as mother with her omens and cabalistic meanings! Has the ring really got aii this power, or are, you Joking? I see nothing but a littlet inv green glassy drop like an emerald.” “C'est ca, but if you will not believe, I will retake my gift. You have not been born in the East, ma rnignonne, or you would have more faith.” So saying the Comtesse seemingly acquiesced, closed the spring, and was about to restore, the vine- its case and her pocket, when Marie cried out, "No—no, please put it on my linger. I would not for worlds be deprived of so precious a talisman.” With many endearments, for these two were somewhat demonstrative in their affection, Comtesse Feo did as she was asked, and they both sat con-

An Exciting Mystery Story.

(By JOHN MIDDLEMASS.)

templatiiig the strange artistic Eastern ring, which was, however, much too large for Marie's slender linger. So in pleasing, friendly chat passed some half hour, Comtesse Feo possessed the liypotic power of soothing—her presence never tired the slowly convalescing girl. At last the tea arrived, and with it Nina and the two men—the tranquil hour was over, chatter flowed, the talker par excellence being Marie her--seif, in whose nature, rich as it was in moods, excitement was ever readv to bubble up. The ring of course was at the present moment the theme of her eloquence—” “s>o good of dear Feo—onlv look, Philip, and—" P was on her lips to tell of the magic properties of Comtesse Feo's gilt, but a glance from that Jady checked her,in time. s*he, however, took the ring from her finger, and handed it to her fiance for inspection. “What a strange ring! Is it symbolic?" he asked, turning to the Comtesse herself. Before she had time to answer, the spring had been touched, either by accident or with knowledge, and the secret, she had so carefully impressed on Marie, was to an extent revealed. •Of the properties the ring possessed in connection with maglo and luck, Philip Morley knew probably nothing, would not have believed them had he been told, but that his little Marie should have been given this somewhat diabolical gewgaw, scarcely pleased him, especially as Jacob whispered somewhat audibly: “Mirza Mulah Khan.” What this eastern uame was Intended to convey, Morley did not know, but what he did know was, that he did not wish his little Marie to wear this strange cabalistlo ring. Probably the Comtesse fully understood the allusion to the name spoken by Jacob, for they looked at each other, eyes into eyes, very fixedly for a second or two, as though weighing which were the stronger of the two, then he asked, in as careless and indifferent a voice as he oould command—' “Where did you pick up that ring, Comtesse ?” She answered as casually—“lt was left me with many other Jewels by the unole from whom 1 Inherited my wealth.” Meanwhile Philip Morley put the ring into his waistcoat pocket within its case, saying as he did so—“I am going to town in the morning, Marie- I will have It made to fit your finger. It Is now muoh too large.” “Philip Is always thoughtful and aux petits soins,” murmured the Comtesse. “ I should have done this myself—forgive me, cherie, for my want of solioitude.” CHAPTER XVI. In the Billiard Room “What the deuce does It mean.** “Cod knows.” “But who is Mirza Mulah Khan?** “A maker of rings.” Jacob as he answered, having carefully oh&lked hie cue, made & professional If somewhat noisy cannon. It was the hour before the dressing bell rang, and in the shortening days the men folk habitually retreated to the billiard room. This evening Philip Morley and Jaoob were tho only Inmates. (To be Continued.)